Just Dance
by Jaden Anderson
Summary: "What do you do in that gigantic house all day long?" Fenris' joke about dancing might not have been as far from the truth as all his companions thought! Hawke sneaks into Fenris' estate and discovers just what he does in that estate, all alone, on his time off.


_A/N: Okay! this piece was inspired by the youtube clip Dancing Fenris and Varric's comments as well haha. It's meant to delve into the Hawke and Fenris relationship becoming a tighter bond instead of just lust :D Hope you like and let me know what you think, please and thank you!_

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**Just Dance**

-.-

Hawke was in an absolutely _foul_ mood, as dark and deep as the thunder clouds rolling across the night sky. The meeting with that haughty bitch Meredith had not gone well - not that it _ever_ did. The woman was under the impression that Hawke was another of her lackeys and demanded that she report her every movement to her. _Please..._

Tonight, the Knight-Commander actually had the _audacity_ to insist that Hawke hand over Anders! She should count her lucky stars that Hawke hadn't pitted her on the edge of her poison-slicked blade. Even now, she was still fighting off the urge to do _exactly_ that. It wasn't as though anyone would actually suffer from the woman's disappearance, and Hawke knew _a lot _of places where she could bury someone and they'd _never_ be found.

Her heated words came yapping and growling round her like a pack of mabari. The woman was witless! Meredith couldn't even fathom how quickly she was losing control of her precious city! Each and every day, another thread was cut away from her. And who were the people looking to now? Oh that's right - _Hawke_. The day was coming - oh yes, Maker willing, it was - when Hawke could finally yank that ever-glowing blade from the Knight-Commander's hands and shove it so far up her ass, the woman would be coughing sparkles for a week! Of course, she'd be dead, but that was just the icing on the cake, now wasn't it?

Her feet led her over the gables of Kirkwall, mindlessly hopping from roof to roof as she made her way from the docks, up through Lowtown, and into Hightown. The streets were far too dangerous to wander alone, in the middle of the night. Her name would only carry her so far. It was best to simply avoid the confrontation entirely. Though, the sudden storm certainly was _not _helping her keep her balance as she leapt across the thatch ceilings.

Sideward sheets of rain, like volleys of sharp arrows, clattered gustily against the windows. More than once, her foot slipped and it was only her twist of balance and nimble steps that she managed to maintain her hold.

The sharp hail rattled against the panes and melted on her cheeks like frozen tears. She swiped away the wetness before dropping soundlessly to the cobbled road.

Straightening, her fingers yanked down on her drenched overtunic to adjust its position before taking to the long winding marble staircase, leading up into Hightown. With every step, the smirched architecture of Lowtown faded and the close-set stone buildings of Hightown began to take shape. The passage was like second nature to her - she knew exactly which steps to hop over, and where to place her toes so not to catch on the loosened rubble.

Like a mist, music brumed from the courtyard of Hightown. Most nights, this troupe took to one of the far more picturesque corners and played to entertain the nobles. On a night like this though, Hawke never would have thought they'd brave it. Yet, she could hear the intimate, airy breath of the pan flutes, the mellow waves of the harpsichord, and the plucked chords of the lute. For the briefest moment, Hawke paused and let the wind carry the sounds to her before digging her fingers into the side of the nearest wall and scaling to the top. There was little danger in Hightown, at least when the troupe was out, but she didn't want to be seen. She was a notable person these days and was granted less and less privacy. It wasn't until she perched atop her own estate, harbored within a dewy shadow, that she could see the ensemble cuddled beneath an overhanging balcony. The pan flutes hovering at the musician's lips were crafted from dragon bone that Hawke had brought back to Kirkwall. And the strings of the harp were from the silk gland she'd extracted from a _massive_ spider that had nearly speared her with a barbed leg. The wood that the lute was crafted from was none other than the ironbark she'd battled darkspawn to acquire. It was like nothing in Kirkwall would exist without her.

The thought breezed through her mind like an unwanted wind, merely quickening the anger that boiled her blood. The Knight-Commander walked around with her chin held high, thinking _she _was the one everyone looked to. There wouldn't even _be_ a Kirkwall if it weren't for Hawke.

Hawke raked a hand down her face as she crouched low, her fingers latching around the porous stone. From her estate she could see _his_. If she curved against the brick chimney, she could see right into his chambers - though his threadbare curtains were always drawn. Many a night she'd stood out here, not to _watch_ him, but to be alone. Up here, there was a _chance_ she could breath something beyond the acrid, black damp smog that poisoned Kirkwall. Tonight, the tattered curtains were tied back and from her perch, she could make out the faint edge of his frayed blankets and motley furs. She knew from time spent with him that the flue was blackened with soot and ash and that the flagstone just adjacent the door was cracked and crumbling. But most importantly, she knew the pile of shattered glass, which only grew larger with her every visit. Aggregio had become one of her favorites as well.

She relinquished her grip and stalked back on the roof. She'd never scaled the roofs leading to his estate and suffering beneath her vile mood, she lunged forward and threw herself across the chasm, scrambling with her hands and feet when she connected with the neighbors estate. Without a waste breath, she blinked away the raindrops clinging to her eyelashes and bolted ahead, easily closing the distance between their estates.

Her feet landed soundlessly upon his roof. His window was right beneath her and clinging deftly to the roof, she slid through the open window, landing in a crouch next to his Blade of Mercy. Her fingers ghosted over the folded steel, tracing the intricate whorls. It reacted to her touch instantly, a vision of light pouring forth from a thin webbing of veins worked into the metal. She knew it only required a simple touch to activate it, but so far, it had only ever responded to Fenris. This was the first time for her, and her breath caught as she watched the aurous light spread over her fingers with an unrequited strength that begged to be handled in equal abandon. How often had she sat at the bottom of his stairs and watched him sweep across the floor in liquid movements, striking out at invisible opponents? A rogue on her own, she'd begged to spar with him, but Fenris was always hesitant, afraid he would cause her injury. It was becoming tiresome. She'd fought side by side with him for six years and he feared harming her? Not even the Arishok had been able to defeat her, yet her elf thought _he_ would be the one to hurt her. The thought was... well, _sweet_, but she would never admit it aloud.

The swell of the music broke her engrossing thoughts and drew her gaze toward his rickety door, barely clinging to its last hinge. There was a hole darkening the center of it and for a moment, her lips quirked when the unbidden memory of him throwing his fist through it rose. That'd been the night he'd caught her flirting with the King of Ferelden. Ignoring the fact that he'd left her three years prior, he hadn't taken well to another man showing interest and even worse to the fact that she'd responded. She hadn't done it with the intent of causing him harm or making him jealous, yet that'd been the outcome. It had also been the night that she realized Fenris still cared for her. It didn't matter that it was months later when they had _finally_ reconciled over the sundered chest of his former master. That night was the night Hawke's life had begun to fall back into place.

The memory helped to partially soothe her foul mood and she finally slipped past the hanging door and took to the landing. Her veiled presence slithered through the vast, empty house - one very few were granted permission to enter. The music was louder here, something she hadn't expected, though the troupe had been quite close to Fenris' front door.

The foyer of the house was haunted by an incessant echoing, the honeyed chords of the music ringing in the rafters of the vaulted ceiling. Hawke put little effort into her steps, pausing only to avoid the areas that she knew would creak under her weight. It was likely Fenris was already aware of her presence, he always was -

She fell still, her eyes widening and mouth gaping at the sight capering before her. Varric's voice rose in the flustered depth of her mind: _what do you do in that gigantic house all day?_ Fenris had delivered a most deliciously sarcastic line that was worthy of Hawke herself, claiming that he danced - not just danced, but ran room to room, choreographing routines. They'd all assumed he was joking! None of them could ever imagine Fenris... _dancing_.

And yet, there was no other word for the sight stretched out before her. He sprung and leapt jovially through the house, his movements even _more_ liquid than when he held his blade. His silvered feet led him across the entire length of the foyer, and all Hawke could do was watch as he executed complicated leaps and jumps that she had never in her wildest dreams imagined he could complete. He tumbled across the floor, landing on his hands before springing forward and sinking into a sinuous hip roll that closed her throat. She was hardly aware of her steps carrying her down the stairs and even less so of crossing the room.

The music shifted, hardening to a quicker and firmer pace and Fenris adapted his steps, his body rocking in time to the beat as he swung his head side to side. Transfixed, Hawke stared after the shock white hair as it spilled over his face. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips quirked in that 'Fenris smirk', as she called it. He was... _having fun_. Just watching him caught her breath.

That sharp intake, somehow he heard it, even over the music and his eyes snapped open. For a single moment, she envisioned his fist phasing through her chest and ripping out her heart - though after such a sight, it was already his. But after a single heartbeat, his face smoothed and in place of the immediate rage came that _smirk_.

With every step he took toward her, her heart took off. His olive skin glistened with sweat, and it was only then that she noticed he was bare to the waist. The sight of Fenris always struck her dumb and mute, but the dancing had thrown her for a loop. It didn't matter that she'd seen him countless times before this, both naked and clothed, her eyes still fell to the whorling pattern of lyrium imbued into his flesh. The bands curved around his chest and stretched down his waist before curling over his hips. His breeches were loose and hung low, flaunting his taut abdomen and notched lines that drew her eyes down a little further.

"I was not expecting you, Hawke," he growled in that sinful voice.

She shrugged - it was really all she could do with her mouth as parched as the desert.

"You are angry," he continued, a fevered hand brushing away her waterlogged hair.

"How-"

His drew his thumb over her flesh, smoothing away the brow she was sure was furrowed and writhen like rain-washed crags. "I know."

"I-I didn't know you danced," she murmured over the music.

"You never asked."

And she never would have either.

The hands that cupped her cheeks slid down the smooth column of her neck and grazed the familiar landscape of her shoulders before skimming down the length of her back. His fingers grasped at the hem of her overtunic and he pulled it off, the soaked material bunched in his hand as he pressed it against her back. Tonight, he looked nothing like the Fenris she knew and loved. It didn't bother her in the smallest bit, in fact, she found that her skin ran warm with desire.

His hands continued their path to her hips, her overtunic falling with a wet slap against his stone floor. She expected him to kiss her, _waited_ for the warmth of his tongue gliding over hers. Instead his fingers curled over her hips and he guided her out into the floor.

"Fenris, what-"

It was then that his mouth _did_ fall on hers, and just as he parted her lips and slipped between them, his hands started directing her hips, moving them in rhythm to his. Her hands rose and pressed flat against his chest, feeling the muscles bow and break as he led them across the floor. His markings were like liquid lyrium, rippling and gleaming over his flesh as he moved effortlessly across the floor, flickering in a lambent glow of white fire.

Flush against him, Hawke was finding it incredibly difficult to catch a full breath. One moment, his hands were guiding her hips, shimmying them in time to his, the next they were painting up her back, his touch warming her chilled skin.

His fingers ran the length of her arm and her skin puckered, her entire body trembling from these slight touches that were doing nothing for her sanity. He grasped her hand and suddenly spun her in a tight circle, releasing her at the last moment. Her breath caught as she whirled around, balance askew without him there to support her. Her feet were like a whirlwind, spinning her about, when he appeared before her, snagging her hips against his. Her head fell back and a winded laugh spilled from her lips, snuffed out the moment his mouth ran over the hollow of her throat. The feel of him, pressed against her, _excited_, kindled the blood warming her cheeks and had her fighting to catch her breath.

He rolled their bodies as one, his nimble feet leading her into these steps that she'd never learned. He turned her, and with her back flat against his chest, he broke at the waist and led her through a maneuver far more complicated than anything she'd ever attempted.

With every step, her dark mood abated. He spun her again and again, always there to catch her, and every time he brought them back together, Meredith was pushed further toward the dark recesses of her mind. It didn't matter what that woman wanted, it didn't matter that Kirkwall was about to burn down around them - all that mattered was Fenris. All that mattered was the feel of his lips ghosting over hers, of his fingers burning through her skin, of his heart beating in time to hers. The rest of the world would have to wait. She was with _him_.


End file.
